


Reservations

by a_void



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BDSM, Drinking, Gift Fic, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Painplay, Mild S&M, Other, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, mundane silliness, old married bickering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_void/pseuds/a_void
Summary: "You shouldn't have gotten so drunk and forgotten the place that you made the reservation for!" Aziraphale whined. He was not exactly in much a better state, yet still poured the last of the Nth bottle of wine into his glass before letting it clink onto the aging table beside the other empties."Well! What's it matter, really. Just pop in a place--""Ought to popyou--" Aziraphale muttered.Crowley's grinned. "Angel, that's downright[hic]bloody rude, 'ssidess, what if I like it, hmm?" He waggled his brows.Aziraphale and Crowley can't seem to figure out their dinner situation, and Crowley is just having a hard time with it. 'It' being everything. Aziraphale helps him with all his reservations.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18
Collections: Crawly's Angels Valentine's Day Exchange





	Reservations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moeyandchandon (lokalelyen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokalelyen/gifts).



> For [elyen moeyandchandon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokalelyen/pseuds/moeyandchandon), whose prompt/gift request included the note, "crowley can't be good at being sexy. he can be hot, physically, but is as sexually appealing as a wet paper bag when he tries too had to be seductive" and it truly resonated with me.
> 
> CW: Chapter 1 includes drinking and lack of communication. Chapter 2 includes sex between two angelic beings of the transgender man-variety with various graphic descriptions of their bodies and genitals, as well as mild BDSM play. Tags will be updated accordingly.

"You shouldn't have gotten so drunk and forgotten the place that you made the reservation for!" Aziraphale whined. He was not exactly in much a better state, yet still poured the last of the Nth bottle of wine into his glass before letting it clink onto the aging table beside the other empties. 

"Well! What's it matter, really. Just pop in a place--" 

"Ought to pop _you_ \--" Aziraphale muttered. 

Crowley's grinned. "Angel, that's downright _[hic]_ bloody rude, 'ssidess, what if I like it, hmm?" He waggled his brows. 

"What on _Earth_ does that mean, old boy?"[1]

"Don't worry 'bout it. What about we hop over to the Ritz--" Crowley’s eyes went wide - well, wider than usual - behind his sunglasses. "Hmgpk. No, that... won't do..." He buried his nose into his phone again, all too close to his face as he tried to focus his eyes on the screen. 

"Tuh," Aziraphale snapped, "don't tell me you've suddenly grown a --" He burped behind his fist and continued, "Grown a conscience about ruining someone else's dinner too?" 

Crowley actually looked a bit crestfallen at that; Aziraphale frowned and softened. "Sorry, I didn't... Well. I didn't intend for you to seem so down about it." 

Crowley heard the undercurrent, that Aziraphale definitely intended to be a little bit of a bitchy ass about it, but Crowley was too busy drunkenly pouting and lamenting over his situation to say anything clever. He flopped back dramatically as the room spun, so he squeezed his eyes shut. 

A shadow was cast over him on the stuffy old couch, and he pried open a single eyelid until his slitted pupil focused on Aziraphale's wide form towering above him. "Crowley. Do you need to sober up?" 

"No! We're havin' a greeaat time," he slurred. 

“I don’t know that I’d go quite that far.” 

“I’m gonna figure it out, ssee,” Crowley continued, either ignoring or not noticing the slight. “Lemme. Hmm. I know the placess y’like, an’ I’ll go from there.” 

Aziraphale didn’t ask what that meant, but he learned soon enough that meant Crowley dialing up various restaurants, to his horror, they might dine, and asking politely but quite loudly if there was a reservation for Anthony J. Crowley. Or Ezra Fell. Maybe Aziraphale? No? Were they sure? Maybe they should double check, or have the other host look, or maybe see if their mobile booking was working properly, or -- 

Well, it went on for about three calls, and Aziraphale could only moon over Crowley’s drunken sibilance so much. 

“Dear boy, they don’t have your reservation, just let the man go!” 

Crowley, now one leg sprawled over the arm of Aziraphale’s couch and the other over the back, glared. “Fine.” He hung up and flopped back on the couch and smacked around for one of the bottles on the table beside him, forgoing the glass. The first two bottles he picked up were empty, and he thunked back down precariously. “What am I supposed to do then! You fix it!” 

“You’ve done nothing but create fifteen puzzle[2] on _why_ we can’t just go _anywhere_.” Crowley was almost certain Aziraphale’s hair had somehow gotten more fluffy as he got more exasperated, as it was wont to do. 

“Firsst of all, no one sayss fifteen puzzle anymore, hasn’t for at _leasst_ a hundred years. Ssecondly,” Crowley smacked and licked his lips as he tried to right his tongue. “I had a blasted plan, alright? Arrangements were made. I just…” He sighed as he wiped his face. “I wanted to treat you for Valentine’s Day, alright?” He started trying to find a bottle with wine, but he just continued to pick up empty ones. 

Aziraphale chewed his lip. “If it means that much too you... “ 

“It bloody does! Bless it, is there any damn alcohol left?” He knocked over a bottle with his lack of coordination, setting them all falling over like bowling pins as they fell onto his phone screen. He stared almost listlessly as the screen shattered with two of the bottles, and the remnants of wine seeped into the phone. “... Cool.” 

“Oh, Crowley. We can fix it, right? Oh, no, don’t stick your fingers in there, you’ll hurt yourself --” He swatted at Crowley’s hands to keep them from trying to fish out his phone from underneath the carnage. “Here, why don’t I try? I’ll attempt somewhere…Here, what’s another place you haven’t called? I have the shop phone!” Aziraphale held up the old rotary for Crowley to see, and Crowley looked between the angel and the glass havoc. 

“Er… I guess I haven’t tried the sushi place.” 

“Ah. Yes. Well.” Aziraphale puttered for a moment with his clothes, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain himself, but Crowley really was going to make him admit he had eaten at almost every single one in London and several in Japan. “... Which one?” 

“Uh… The… One here in…. Soho?” Crowley saw that Aziraphale was still hoping for more, and Crowley realized how utterly fucked he was. For all he knew, it _was_ a sushi restaurant, but, unlike Aziraphale, he didn’t know any names or know the language, and so it all blurred together. Hell help him, he didn’t know if the restaurant was in Soho or not. “The _really_ good one,” he said, more hopefully than anything. Still, Aziraphale didn’t budge. It took all Crowley’s willpower not to start grumbling. “The… one with the big bar?” 

“Right! I’ll dial them up.” Aziraphale’s smile was big as his thick fingers spun the dial. Crowley could hear the dial tone from across the room, taunting him. 

But not nearly as much as how taunting it was to listen to Aziraphale try to have a nice _chat_ with the lad who answered the phones of this restaurant - Temakinho, apparently, which didn’t sound at all familiar. But of course Aziraphale was on a first-name basis with the host. Crowley had met enough Johns to last an eternity, but “Ezra” had to ask how half the blessed staff was doing, chortling and patting his belly. Crowley pushed his glasses back up his nose as he sighed at the ceiling. They had to have been late by now. And it was definitely his own fault. And he didn’t want to sober up, because all that would do was help him more _clearly_ wallow in his stupidity. 

Eventually Crowley launched a throw pillow at Aziraphale’s knees, and the angel scowled as he wrapped up the call. “It was a bust, I’m afraid.” He bent over and patted the pillow clean of the dust that seemed ever-present in the shop, allowing Crowley to leer at his backside. Aziraphale swatted at him. 

“If you’re not going to help, dear boy --” 

“Oh, I just don’t know! I can’t remember!” Crowley cried out. “LIke _you_ can remember all these blessed things over 6000 years of things to remember, you can’t even remember today is Valentine’s Day!” 

“I remembered, I just didn’t think you cared!” Aziraphale exclaimed. 

“I’ve gotten you something every single year for the past --” 

“You have not --” 

“It’s been Valentine’s or Sepandarmazgan[3], which still cou -- 

“No, you dressing up as a maid does _not_ count as a celebration of Sepandarm--” 

“And why not!” 

“Oh, hush!” Aziraphale’s voice was suddenly a bit stern, and Crowley’s jaw clicked shut. “Now, if this reservation matters so much, sober up or _think_. How did you make the reservation? Did you call? Or just make it so?” 

“I…” Crowley’s brows furrowed. “I… Think I made it on the web?” 

“Alright, that’s a start. Come here.” He went over to the ancient computer, letting it boot and not waiting for Crowley, knowing he would join soon enough. 

Crowley peered over Aziraphale’s shoulder at the screen. “Whassit?” 

“If you made the reservation online, you likely had to type in your email, so they would have sent you a confirmation as such.” Aziraphale pushed himself over so Crowley could bend over to the hulking brick of a computer, which had pulled up the email site. “So log in and check to see.” 

Crowley felt infinitely stupid. His fingers felt like cinderblocks on the end of spindly sticks that he just managed to lift to peck at the keys. Aziraphale politely looked away from his inbox as he scrolled, but, sure enough, there it was, a reservation confirmation. 

RESERVATION at OKA ROBATA for 5:30p under ANTHONY J. CROWLEY 

SPECIAL REQ: You know what to do. 

Crowley stared at the screen in horror. 

It was currently 7:54 pm. 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, ever astute. 

Crowley detested his snake form, but the idea of it seemed fairly enticing at that particular moment. 

“You know, Crowley, we can go any time. They won’t be closing any time soon.” 

“Gk.” 

“So, shall I order takeaway…?” Aziraphale again held up the phone, but Crowley didn’t answer. He instead was staring out into the distance and looked a bit haunted, or as was the more current saying, dead inside. 

“Dear boy, will you just tell me what on _Earth_ has gotten you so in a tizzy about this dinner.” It was not a question. 

“It was a whole thing!” Crowley cried out, shoving his hands under his sunglasses to clutch over his eyes. “There was special music, an’ I got a bottle of 1959 Chateau Lafite, unopened, and I was gonna give you your b-- oh! Your present!” He rolled up and fell off the couch onto his head with a hard thunk and a resounding crunch, making Aziraphale wince. 

“... I’m never doing a nice thing ever again,” came Crowley’s voice, muffled by the floor. “Not a single blessed thing, angel. 

Aziraphale took a step closer, unsure if he should offer to help. Crowley managed to get upright, and his glasses were cracked and askew; Aziraphale had to purse his lips to keep from laughing as Crowley pouted. The angel finally stepped in and took the glasses off Crowley’s face gently, and smoothed back Crowley’s hair a bit for him. 

“Why go through all the trouble, you silly thing,” he tutted softly. 

“I don’t… I don’t know if I tell you enough. You know. That you… How much you mean to me.” 

“You don’t have to,” Aziraphale said, almost firm. “I know.” 

“But--!” 

“If you want to tell me then _tell_ me, perhaps?” 

Crowley blinked at him, but said nothing. Aziraphale looked unamused. 

A few seconds of silence still followed as they stared at each other. 

“Alright, I did say you didn’t have to,” Aziraphale allowed. 

Crowley, somehow, pouted harder. Aziraphale wanted to strangle him. He had a sneaking suspicion, though, that Crowley would probably like that. 

“Whatever you decide to do, we’ll do. But I’m not deciding. In the meantime, I, well. got you a gift as well, actually..." Aziraphale said. 

As Aziraphale passed over a pristine, white bag with black tissue paper perfectly sprouting from the top, Crowey took no time prying it from his thick, dark fingers and pulling out the carefully wrapped jewelry, dangling the pendant from it's makeshift chain. 

"An unusually large presolar oxide grain extracted from meteorite, then wrapped in niobium wire and on a leather thong, so you can wear it forever if you so chose, no tarnishing and all that. If you'd like, of course. I didn't know if \--" 

"So this is stardust?" Crowley blinked, once. 

"Well, not _technically_ but... . It was made from some it, I suppose, or made of the… bits from the star you showed me some, oh, at least decades ago now, when you first told me you'd...." Aziraphale started. 

"When I told you one of my favorite stars I'd helped make was dying," Crowley said quietly. He held the necklace in his hand, twisting it between his fingers. The wire held it in place, but also formed the shape of an apple, because Aziraphale was bloody cheesy. He felt... many emotions. He broke the silence between them with, "No one calls it a leather thong, angel." 

"They certainly do. I just did, and I'm someone,” Aziraphale said. 

"You don't count." 

"This coming from a demon who ranted about true democracy and freedom once a year during the Cold War --!" 

"The reunification of Germany has nothing to do with this! This is about language changing and a thong meaning the thing I'm wearing right now and not the thing I'm about to be wearing, angel,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale opened and shut his mouth. Crowley smirked, pleased with himself, and put on the necklace. 

“It’s perfect, angel. Thank you.” He held the pendant, staring at the crevices and twists of rock and metal for a few moments, admiring the contrast with the golden hue with the lightness of the stardust - or whatever the hell it was. It was not unlike the contrasting and blending colors of Aziraphale’s eyes and hair and skin. “No gift I had was like this.” 

“Nonsense! You went to a world of trouble for me --” 

“I love you, Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale stopped, then smiled slowly, softly. “I love you, Anthony Crowley.” 

Crowley was positive his non-vital heart was going to beat into his throat as he stared into Aziraphale’s eyes; the intensity of it made him want to look away, but he was certain he didn’t want to ever look away from the twinkle of Aziraphale’s eyes. 

Shit, and he’d called Aziraphale cheesy. 

“May I…?” Aziraphale’s hand cupped Crowley’s cheek, and Crowley instantly went slack into it. When their lips met, Aziraphale was certain that time had stopped, Crowley was certain it was going by a mile a minute, and neither wanted it to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Aziraphale knew exactly what it meant, but he had mastered the art of playing dumb.  [return to text]
> 
> 2 Fifteen puzzle is Victorian slang for confusion.  [return to text]
> 
> 3 Sepandarmazgan is celebrated also as Iranian Love Day and was celebrated in Persia by Zooroastroans originally. Men would take charge of housework often to appreciate the work and women.  [return to text]


End file.
